


Folie à deux

by TheOneAndOnlyHades



Series: The View From Halfway Down [3]
Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood As Lube, Dark fic, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face Slapping, Freudian Elements, Heavy Angst, Hell, Infidelity, Knifeplay, Lucid Dreaming, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rope Bondage, Sanctuary, Shibari, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaginal Sex, Vore, dark michael, oedipus complex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:15:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25924234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOneAndOnlyHades/pseuds/TheOneAndOnlyHades
Summary: Folie à deux - A madness shared by two.Reader deals with the aftermath of Michael's transgressions while vying to stave off their inner demons.
Relationships: Michael Langdon/Reader, Satan (American Horror Story)/Reader
Series: The View From Halfway Down [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695139
Comments: 54
Kudos: 100





	1. Solar Flares

**Author's Note:**

> I have returned with, yet another, one of these damn fics after swearing them off haha.
> 
> This is a long-winded, verbose mess. I apologize in advance for the incoherent word vomit. There's probably still many mistakes too.
> 
> This is for SisterOfTheMoon/GuilyFiend cause I pretty much only wrote this cause she's one of 2 people that liked the first part hahaha. She inspired this. I hope you're doing well!
> 
> Also, I shouldn't have to say this but I will anyway - ALWAYS USE LUBE FOR ANAL!

> _**whether the touch is physical, moral, emotional or imaginary. Contact is crisis. As the anthropologists say, “Every touch is a modified blow."** _
> 
> _**-** _ _**Anne Carson** _

* * *

What we truly desire exists in the darkness of our unconscious mind; The sordid, concealed, forbidden thoughts lurk within the innermost recesses of our minds.

The devils that dwell in the periphery gorge on our nightmares. They thrive on the anguish of our distress; are nourished by our immorality.

The abject horrors linger within; luring close enough to give a tantalizing glimpse of the inner demons that haunt us. That scares us. Whispering and enticing with the sinful and obscene; instigating from behind the shadows. Giving our appetites cause. Incentive.

They demand sacrifices.

We're hand-fed illusions, forced to choke down the atrocities. The cacophony of voices that shout into vacant expanses in our heads, seemingly into nothingness makes a home in us.

Within the dark, a solitary light shines...

Only then do we see the masks for what they truly are. Our true selves. Our destructive hunger. Our true faces.

The images can be unsettling and the unseen devils tend to be the most chaotic of all...

Then there's the kinds of devils that manifest themselves into your existence. A duo, in particular, comes to mind. Your entire world overturned the moment Satan's cum dribble recognized the rot residing in your wretched soul and the cosmos suffered the consequences of the union.

Things stopped being ordinary when Michael decided to intervene with your life. More specifically, your afterlife.

Michael altered your course when he saved you. He removed your ending in favor of his own. Though you suppose you can't be too furious. He did make you a mother and that alone is worth everything you've been through.

Still, Michael Langdon is a selfish bastard.

Fatherhood and a wedding ring could never change that.

You only have yourself to blame for falling in love with him in the first place.

Michael is only one hurdle in your complicated existence. Thanks to him, there's another that lavishes themselves in making your life hell. Literally.

Thankfully, you're smart enough to understand the repercussions of making deals with the devil. Though you know the temptation he brings. How he dangles your dreams in your face. How you he sells you a lie and you buy it at face value and for a moment, you feel as clever as Faust thinking you've deluded Satan himself. Your bargains mean nothing.

Lucky for you, you know where your soul resides and you know the company you keep. 

He who sups with the devil... 

And fucks his son...

With a grin plastered across his striking face, your companion swipes the bishop for a rook. He's making an exchange to strengthen his defense. Having lost the trade, he'll not so subtly gloat, reclining gracefully against his seat while you calculate your next moves. The games are lengthier but it stimulates your brain juices into reevaluating your techniques. 

He likes watching you deliberate. The way your eyes scan the board rapidly, inspecting every possible outcome. Thanks to his favored aggressive lines, you've learned how to revise your moves. It doesn't always work in your favor but you've won more than lost lately, which is a vast improvement. As it stands, Michael playing at his best can't keep up anymore. That is unless he cheats, which is something he does plenty of - _on and off_ \- the board.

This is the only time the game is played anymore. Paired with a bottle of the finest booze and personally accompanied by Satan himself.

_It's funny how things changed course._

Hell shouldn't feel like a refuge yet it feels more welcoming than your own home has in months. Once Rain drifts off to sleep, this is where you scamper off to. It probably wasn't the healthiest alternative but given the circumstances, you weren't really concerned with the repercussions. Michael could smell the stench of his father's realm that began to linger on you. There's a modicum of guilt on your part when you realize your actions aren't any more favorable than his.

Ultimately, you didn't fucking care.

_He's made his bed_

_Though it was never without company_

Slamming your final piece down in frustration, your father-in-law points out the fragility of glass. As if you weren't aware. He notes and savors your vexation.

He fixes the pieces into their respective places.

_**"Come now, there isn't a need to take it out on the board. Best two out of three?"** _

You agree. You always do.

_**"What has you so irritable tonight? What's that son of mine done now?"** _

"Besides the fact that he's still breathing? Nothing really. He's been on his best behavior considering..." Your words trailed off. You couldn't even complete the sentence without getting furious about everything that came after.

_**"I could take care of that for you..."** _

His eyes flicker red. His signature cunning smile enraptures every time.

"No. Your granddaughter needs her father. She's crazy about him and I won't be the one responsible for breaking her heart."

_**"Fair enough."** _

"And I owe it to both of them to try and make it work."

_**"You, my dear, don't owe him a fucking thing. Don't torture yourself because there's crotchfruit involved. It's not healthy."** _

"I'm not..."

He smiles. _ **"Of course not."** _He says with an obvious sneer.

He pours himself another drink. Naturally, he pours you one too.

"I shouldn't..."

_**"You need to relax. One more drink won't hurt, will it?"** _

_It's impolite to say no_

"I suppose it wouldn't."

One more suddenly turns into three.

Occasionally you think he may actually like just shooting the shit with you. That maybe he enjoys your company without there being an objective.

But then he looks at you - the room feels like it's closing in and you wonder if maybe it's naivety or just plain denial that plays into your idiocy.

_It could just be the alcohol._

He knows how to coax you into staying. He lends an ear, let's you unload your baggage and you go back feeling somewhat lighter.

He also uses every opportunity to further ignite the flame burning within.

It only takes one word. A name. A face. All of which he can make you see. Make you feel. It's a ruse, but he knows you respond because he can smell you. How he loves to watch you fidget...

He purposefully steers your discussions into emotional territory knowing he'll eventually get a taste of the wickedness that burns under the surface.

_**"How did it feel? Retribution. Was it everything you thought it'd be?"** _

The retribution he's referring to is something that's never spoken of.

"At the moment, I felt...in control and - "

_**"Powerful."** _

"Very. It's addicting. And I feel like the reason why everything has been a shit show for me since that is because I'm being punished."

_**"I'm certainly not punishing you..."** _

"Are you not the judge, juror, and executioner of the damned?"

_**"Of the guilty, yes. And you aren't dead yet."** _

"I'm doubting this is an act of God."

_**"He does have a twisted sense of humor. He punishes indiscriminately. That's where we differ. He's also a horrible chess player, but that's neither here nor there."** _

"How would you know how God, of all beings, plays chess?"

_**"We play for souls."** _

You laugh at the absurdity of the statement.

Until you see the serious expression on his face.

"Holy shit you're serious."

It flabbergasted you thinking about God and the Devil playing a game for soul exchanges. Then again, here you are drunk with the devil himself, so nothing should come as a surprise anymore.

With the alcohol hitting hard, you decide to call it quits. He makes every attempt to keep you. Even resorting to the one you despise cause he knows he'll get the response he wants. You know better, but he wants the attention. Michael and his father are relentless. _It's definitely an inherited trait._

_"Are you sure you can't stay for just one more drink?"_

There it is.

_Fucking bastard._

"You know I hate when you do that. It's completely unnecessary too."

_"I know. It's still so easy making you squirm. It's much worse when you're drunk."_

"Real funny. I'm leaving now."

Before you make it out of your chair, you're barricaded in by beringed hands clutching onto the armrests.

_Fuck he smells good._

_Stop it, you drunk bitch..._

"Why go through all this? No need to hide behind the face of your son."

_"All the time you've spent around me, this is how you're most comfortable. You only let me near you when I look like this."_

You couldn't even argue it. Cause it was true. He further proved his point the moment his thumb grazed over your bottom lip. How he was getting so close you can feel his breath.

_**"See?"** _

You couldn't help it. Michael was your safe place and even he didn't always have access to you. It was hit or miss.

"I'm sorry... I'm, um, too-"

You don't even know what to say. This wasn't how you thought things would be.

_**"I understand..."** _His lips almost brush yours. _ **"It's just that - I've been savoring the delectable amuse-bouche for so long, and now, I'm famished and looking forward to the entree..."**_

\------------------------

You wake from your hellish slumber covered in a cold, clammy sheen.

It's always slightly disorienting when you first wake up, but at least you know where you'll be when you do.

Michael is laying with his back turned, close to you. Which is an unusual occurrence. Quietly peeking over, you see your daughter has taken over his side. _Of course, she prefers his side. It smells like him._

You laid for a while, alone in your thoughts, just listening to your child and husband snoring next to you. How calming it felt. When you shift to try and go back to sleep, you're greeted by Michael backing up against you. _So much for personal space._

You attribute it to him being asleep and shrug it off. You forgot how warm he felt. How inviting it can feel. When you nestle yourself close, you hope he mistakes it as just a sleep-addled mishap.

_"I miss you."_

It was a low, delicate mumble, yet it sounded like a scream in the deafening silence.

\------------------------

Months passed, things remain peaceful. Quiet.

Rain now walks - ~~_runs._~~ She's Michael's clumsy tail; Always following behind wherever he goes.

As much as she loves you, "daddy" is the one that makes her little face light up.

He's the center of her entire world. It warms your heart knowing that he'd do anything for her. He's a great father, that much you can give him.

He gives her the only good in him that he has, which isn't much, but that's all you can ask for. Michael isn't a good man. In his defense, he never claimed to be. He knows what lies in waiting. He knows the longing that haunts him wherever he goes. Sooner or later, his need will grow teeth.

It just a matter of who the unfortunate casualty will be when he decides to bite. 

If history is any indication...

_I'm as good as fucked. And not the fun kind._

Underneath his youthful visage lies a stone-cold murderer. His steely, unreadable eyes are softened by the soothing cadence of his voice, yet vitriol seeps from every word that rolls off of his tongue. His touch is reassuring, enticing, yet fatal. The hands that brought you to the brink of death, have wiped away your tears in the same instance. Who Michael is and who he struggles to be for you are different versions that can't assimilate the facets of one another without eradicating its counterparts. You'll never completely comprehend the depths of Michael. However, with all the abilities he possesses, he'll never fully grasp your complexity. You - The peculiar, frail, difficult human that brought the devil's bastard son to his knees.

Michael had pitied you once; before he recognized the unique power you brandished. Unlike himself, who's power is attributed to lineage, yours is because you've adapted to ensure survival.

Blood sullied and souls permanently bound, your conniving husband surely feels your contempt at the very sight of him. Meaning he's also privy to just how unstable you actually are.

_"I miss you, you know..."_

This minor declaration shouldn't even be a blip on your radar. It's been reiterated countless times over the past few months.

But...

Your heart, the fickle bitch it is, thawed at his honeyed words. Thankfully, your head still oversees your decisions and isn't easily persuaded by a gorgeous face with vacant promises. 

Still, you can't help but scoff at his audaciousness. 

Who gave him the right to miss you?

Regardless, your heart flutters at his neediness.

You're aware of how it feels being in Michael's clutches. How his suffocation begins to feel intoxicating. How his touch can reorient your entire being. Being Michael's world, even momentarily, is riveting, hellish, and consuming.

Moreover, you secretly hungered for it, despite what he's done.

"You see me everyday Michael. What's there to miss?"

Catching a glimpse of the black silk nightie you've thrown on, it isn't long before watchful eyes are following along as you meander throughout the bedroom.

Keeping his distance, he listens to your mellifluous humming, observing as a pet does its master.

His presence is stifling. The aura surrounding him steals any semblance of rationality. It washes over in palpable waves before the storm of the tempestuous sea grabs hold and swallows. Michael is the underlying abyss where darkness flourishes and chaos reigns.

He just needs something, _or someone_ , to grab hold of.

_"You know what I mean..."_

This wasn't something you wanted to discuss. Not presently. Evading your problems has been working so far. Staying impassive keeps your mind clear.

It's what's kept you alive, and arguably, sane.

Hands clutched to the dresser in front of you, the heat emanating off Michael's approaching body is smothering. Diverting your eyes from the mirror, you refrained from staring to avoid giving him the satisfaction of seeing the remnants of your dignity shatter. The bastard's won enough battles. There won't be a war. Not yet anyway.

The ache intensifying between your thighs is an indicator that even you occasionally desire human connection. Michael is already stalking his vulnerable little lamb, like an apex predator. There's hesitation in his head but that won't deter the caged creature from breaking free. Once his fingers grace your skin - Every caress, kiss, bite, scratch, moan you've buried deep in the niches of your mind reemerge.

Everything you attempted to confine was freed with a solitary touch.

Fingertips press into the rich, expensive wood as you struggle to keep your composure while his fingers trail down your arm. Flush against you, his body encasing you in his warmth isn't helping quell the appetency that's settled in your bones. Right now, there's a certain bone of Michael's jutting against your backside with no qualms of its intents. 

"I think I have an idea."

Ignoring the hammering in your chest, the stupid, vexing thing that beats within it, is futile. Maybe you loathe the emotions he brings out of you. Perhaps you're a lying sack of shit and are possibly still enthralled by the fucking bastard shamelessly grinding himself against your ass.

The breathy panting and light grunts echoing behind you are becoming increasingly louder as Michael becomes more daring. Delicate kisses are placed on your shoulder. You nearly jump out of your skin when his hand starts to venture underneath your gown. 

Trying to feign detachment, you're telling yourself you feel nothing. The higher his touch reaches, the warmer you feel against his hand. It engulfs your senses and steals your breath. Rocking your head backward, succumbing to the sensation radiating throughout, Michael relishes in your surrender.

Heart rate accelerating, thoughts beginning to blur, everything turns silent the moment his fingers run through your folds. Your ambivalence had veered to ardor, then unadulterated rage. Thoughts plague you constantly and now is no exception. The desire to be able to savor the moment is overshadowed by the fact that your husband stuck his dick where it didn't belong.

The spell had been broken and the illusion shattered. Try as you might, his indiscretion is singed into your memories.

"I can't."

Michael is confused when he was nudged away harshly. Confused, however, not at all shocked.

"I'm sorry," breath hitching. "I can't do this."

Michael stares at you in quiet disbelief as he follows your every move. You stupidly backed yourself against the wall, hoping to get close to the door, but he's not going to let you leave. It won't end that quickly.

_"You still haven't forgiven me."_

He appears calm, but the deadpan expression tells a different story. Slow, painstaking steps coming towards you have you bracing yourself.

"You stuffed your dick in a cunt that wasn't your wife's... and you tried to hide the child that resulted from your wandering dick..."

He startles you when his fists pound into the wall dangerously close to your head. It's a means to keep you restrained. You know this game all too well.

_"We've both made mistakes, Y/N."_

"Not the same kinds." With tears pooling, it further reminds you how much it hurts reminiscing about the past few months. "You broke us, Michael. You broke us..."

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

_"You won't even give me a chance to fix us."_

The scornful chuckle that escapes you couldn't be contained.

"Why should I? Hmm? What have you done to deserve it?" He has no answer to give you.

"I told you - TOLD you, that I wouldn't be enough for you. I knew it. All you did was prove my point."

_"I love you. I made a huge fucking mistake."_

A mistake he continuously kept committing.

The reasons why he strayed aren't mistaken. There's a twinge of guilt that's settled into your chest and nothing seems to alleviate it. He could touch her without having to apologize. Do things you'd never consent to cause you can't emotionally handle it. You warned him and he didn't heed. It's your own fault and you're paying the price for your own stupidity.

"You didn't love me enough."

Trying to escape Michael's hold is fruitless. He thwarts every attempt.

It's always a battle of wills between yourself and Michael.

"Let me go."

You're met with a sardonic grin. You weighed the options and because you yourself are a catastrophic nightmare, being a petty bitch is how you decide to gamble.

Maybe your sinful feminine wiles could work in this instance.

Before he can process what's happening, you've already gotten your hand in his pants. He was at full mast before you even touched him, but feeling you stroking his cock so deliberately slow is maddening. His intense, uneven breathing is mesmerizing. Testing his self-restraint, Michael's facade will wane when his innermost demon wants to play.

Resting his forehead against yours, his moans occupy the space between your mouths.

You increase your strokes, compelling him to unabashedly thrust himself into your hand chasing his release. His moans grow louder with each second that passes.

Everything comes to a grinding halt when you abruptly cease your movements and remove your hand. Michael is left a panting, blubbering mess, grabbing at your clothing, wanting to feel any skin he can.

"Does my sweet boy want to come?"

You felt his dick twitch the second that endearment left your lips.

_"Yes."_

"I know you do."

His demanding mouth eagerly finds yours. It shouldn't still thrill you to be the recipient of his affections.

Yet it does.

You remember the first time he kissed you this way. How the sheer intensity of it knocked you on your ass. It only took one and you willingly gave yourself to his damnation. How stupid of you. Now, all that you can think of is where the last place his mouth was. It surely wasn't on you. It makes you blind with rage.

Cursing inwardly at yourself, you push Michael off of you harshly and slap him so hard, it leaves your hand stinging.

Something stirred inside of him.

Uncertain of what possessed you to conduct yourself in this manner, he just stares at you, a maniacal smirk plastered on his face. Your chest begins to tighten under the scrutiny of his gaze.

You witness the moment the caged monster breaks free.

Running his hand gently across your face, his laugh echoes throughout the empty room. Having done this song and dance before, there isn't fear in the traditional sense, though you never know what your husband has planned and if there's one thing you both hate, it's the unpredictability that comes with being married to the other. 

_"You had your fun..."_

All Michael has ever wanted was your submission. Your unquestioned subservience. It's something he's never been willingly granted, nor is he entitled to, however, haughtily feels he deserves. Who dares say no to Michael Langdon?

You're roughly shoved back against the wall by your throat. The overwhelming force seizes the air from your lungs. Michael knows how much you hate losing control of a given situation. Being the gentleman he is, he allows you a moment to recoup. It's when he magically binds your wrists to the wall that your confidence begins to sway. He's anticipating the precise moment that you will break.

_"But now, it's my turn."_

He steps back and watches as you tremble and squirm. You won't break the bonds but that's never stopped you before from being your ornery self and trying anyway. He plays dirty and times like this, you abhor him for it.

Keeping your palms flat against the wall, you close your eyes and focus on taking deep breaths.

Warm hands cup your face moments later.

_"Breathe."_

You spit in his face as soon as he got close enough.

He leans in slowly and makes you watch as he not only wipes away the wet shine off his face, but puts it in his mouth afterwards. You realize he's in fact, getting off on this. It doesn't surprise you really.

_"How much do you hate it?"_

"What?"

_"You detest how I make you feel. You can deny until you're blue in the fucking face but I hear everything going on in that pretty little head of yours... I can smell your sopping wet cunt from here. There's no hiding anything from me."_

"And yet you still need validation... You may hear every unspoken word, but we both know you need to hear them. That's your weakness, Michael."

He notes the utter disdain in your voice.

_"You certainly have an itch, don't you?"_

"Lucky for me, you're not the only one I have willing to scratch it."

Your pride swells seeing the fire alight in his eyes at the slightest provocation. It's like fanning the flames and encouraging the burning down of a forest. 

It's uncontrollable and destructive and you'd let the flames lap at your feet if it meant getting to relish in the look in your husband's eyes at this moment.

Every nerve awakens when his hand cracks across your cheek. The impact left a stinging pain on your skin. It was an unexpected turn of events. The air is dense with trepidation, turmoil, and a deep-rooted longing that is ready to enclose and suffocate. Michael stands idly, chuffing, tension in his shoulders.

The silence is unbearable.

Until your uncontrolled laughter fills the empty void. 

"It's fun watching you unravel for once."

His hand roams between the valley of your breasts, feeling the subtle pulse residing underneath.

He doesn't stop until he's established his place. With his fingers securely threading around your throat. He admires how enticing you appear in this situation. His Y/N. Burdened with a voracious appetite of a predator within the body of a lamb.

Hand grasped firmly around your throat, Michael brings himself face-to-face with you. His eyes are engrossed by your mouth; how you're keeping your breathing steady while he's feeling your pulse quicken under his hand. Lips come close to touching then he smirks as he deliberately pulls away. He taunts without trying. He brushes the bridge of his nose along your jawline softly until he reaches his desired destination.

Michael's chest heaving against you is helping maintain your focus. The rapid beats of his heart are nearly in sync with your own. Warm breaths slip past his lips, every ragged exhale that landed on your skin left goosebumps in their wake. A nibble on your earlobe sent a shiver down your spine. Your reaction evokes an arrogant sneer; a mockery vibrating against your core.

His derisive laughter rumbles in his chest but dies in his throat.

_"I know this baiting is because you're too ashamed to ask for the one thing you truly want. I'll give you anything you desire. Just say the words..."_

"You and your father have the same compulsion to indulge me. My cunt seems to be an impressive incentive."

His hand comes into contact with your face a second time, catching your lip and nose. The taste of iron fills in your mouth. Moments later, something warm is dripping down your face. He wipes the blood seeping out of your nose with his bare hands and proceeds to lick his fingers clean. All the while, you're grinning, because unbeknownst to Michael, you're gradually breaking him.

It's petty. However, witnessing him get so riled up is incredibly gratifying.

_"There's plenty of dick rags who'd stoop so low as to eat my shit if I told them to, just to get a glimpse of my cock. You should be fucking appreciative, instead, you're trying to goad me, like a shameless whore."_

"You're truly pathetic if this is all it takes to get you firing on all cylinders, Michael..." His arrogant scowl studies your face, "Perhaps learning some self-control?"

_"Maybe if asinine bullshit didn't spew out of your fucking trap-"_

"Were you this petulant with Amanda?" Michael immediately freezes at the mention of her name. "Or were you too preoccupied with your dick being buried that you didn't have time to bitch and moan? Well, I guess the moaning part..."

It isn't often your husband expresses a tinge of remorse. When the invisible ties that were binding you in place unexpectedly fade, you wonder if possibly, you jabbed a tender spot in him too.

He doesn't look at you.

His eyes won't leave the floor.

_Of course. Classic Michael bullshit._

Heading across the room towards the door, the old familiar sting is felt in your chest. _Why the fuck do you have to be stupid and keep saying her fucking name?_ Grabbing the door handle, you turn it only to realize it won't open. You jostle and pull a few times before becoming frustrated and shouting.

"Open the fucking door."

_"No."_

"Open the door asshole."

_"No."_

You abandon that one and try the bathroom door. Surprise, also locked. _You've got to be fucking kidding me._ "Seriously Michael?"

From a logical perspective, you're outmatched. You can either resist or play his game, abiding by his rules. 

He knows you. His rules mean shit.

"What do you want Michael? Huh? What do you want from me?"

_"What do I want?"_ He appears stupefied

"Yes, what do you want. From me."

_"What I want from you is simple."_

"Then tell me and let me out of here."

_"I want your forgiveness..."_

The retort makes you laugh.

"The kind of forgiveness you're looking for is me being on my knees and your 'forgiveness' going down my throat... What else?"

_"I want to fix us. I just want..."_

He gradually steps closer - his eyes almost imperceptibly change, darkening from their beautiful blue to black.

"You want what?"

_"All I want - ALL I fucking need, is for you to not look at me all the time like I'm the most tremendous regret you carry."_ The air feels constricting the closer he's inching. _"I-I need you to just..."_

"Just what?"

_Spit it the fuck out._

_"LOVE ME!"_

His message manifests clearly.

It's volatile. Destructive.

It isn't the demon lurking underneath that scares you. It's the havoc he causes. Somehow, you weren't knocked on your ass, but are left standing to shield yourself from fragments of shattered glass and various objects being strewn about.

Analyzing the chaos, you spot a familiar item you hid. Michael hasn't moved, which feels strange. Without thinking, you've already reached down to grab the knife and opened it. Is it completely ludicrous to assume a minor wound would be enough to divert his attention? Possibly. So when you grip the hilt tightly and push it through his abdomen as hard as you can, you hope it's enough to lessen his hold on the doors.

Attempting to avoid the broken glass was a challenging feat. It proved successful but escaping your bedroom was not. _Fuck._

You're caught off guard when Michael grasps the nape of your neck and harshly shoves you against the bed. You narrowly missed getting a glass shard smashed into your face.

"You fucking asshole!"

_"You did just stab me."_

Lifting up, you're already readying for whatever unexpected blow the man-child will surely be delivering.

When you finally face him, his eyes are wild with a renewed vigor. His wound is already healed. In his hand - the weapon you used to cause it. It's his favorite knife.

He yanks off the debris-filled duvet and tosses you on the bed. As he foresaw, you resist. Scratching, biting, kicking with all your strength. He lets you struggle. Until he gets tired and decides he's done watching and wants to finally play.

Once again, you're restrained by forces unseen.

"Are you fucking serious?!"

_"I'll be back momentarily. Just sit tight."_ He leaves you screaming expletives and writhing about. What a scumbag. When he eventually returns, he doesn't do so empty-handed. A sleek black box is tucked in the crook of his arm and he'd opted for more comfortable attire. _Comfortable means he doesn't plan on wearing them long._ Averting your attention to the ceiling, you can hear him approaching. The mystery box is placed beside you as your husband works his way around, slowly.

Crawling up your body, kneeling between your legs, Michael brushes away hair from your clammy forehead with a deft hand. _"This aberrant behavior won't stand. Has my beloved plaything calmed themselves?"_

"Funny... You deduce me to a mere plaything. Your father comes to me on his knees with a kingdom in his hands and calls me his Queen..."

One statement and the tides had turned. Michael opens the cryptic box and reveals it's contents - the first being rope, which he uses to tie intricate knots around your wrists, throughout your palms and over around your hands so you're able to firmly grasp as needed. Now you know why he wanted a slatted headboard.

The rest is kept hidden as he closes the box and sets it by your feet.

_"Struggle all you'd like. There's no escaping."_

He admires his handiwork while you contemplate if it's worth kicking him in the face. It's a hasty, glorious thought but being at a tremendous disadvantage, you abstain from doing so. He must have known what you were thinking; just as you decide to forgo the idea, he's positioning his face between your legs, casting a furtive glance your way. The dreaded box is opened and something else is taken out before it's tossed aside. 

_That's not good._

He runs something akin to rubber across the back of your thighs. It's subtle. Tantalizing. Unsettling. _Just like Michael._ He gauges your reaction - tugging at your bindings, your body quivering, the unmistakable aroma of arousal permeating between your thighs... He's worked up an appetite and you're graciously serving him his favorite meal.

Michael's fingers trail the length of your folds, coating them in your betrayal. His tongue follows suit - flicking and sucking, swallowing down everything your body offers him. He gorges reverentially on your cunt as if you would deny if you weren't restrained. You wouldn't of course but he takes everything as a personal affront, though he's the one hurling one insult after another and doesn't deserve to have his dirty mouth feasting upon any part he so chooses when he's behaving like an odious hellspawn.

It's too much yet not enough. Everything nearly shatters when he takes his mouth away. You want to scream but aren't exactly in a position of power to argue. You refuse to glance down knowing Satan's seed is eying your crotch like a horny teenager. He prolongs your torment, thumbing your clit in slow, calculated motions while simultaneously slipping two fingers inside of you. He watches as you rut against his hand chasing a high he won't let you obtain. Every time you get close, he abruptly stops. A reprieve comes immediately when he begins again, switching his method of torture but there isn't a finish line waiting for you.

You're so close this time. You speculate Michael might have some sort of mercy. He spits on your cunt, watches as it dribbles down and begins slurping and moaning like he's been offered and drinking god's blood from a chalice. You'd almost think he was being dramatic if he weren't savagely digging his hands into your thighs, holding you in place. You don't complain though because you feel the pressure. The distinct coil tightening and ready to snap at any moment. You begin grinding your hips against Michael's face to increase the friction. He lets go of you to spread your legs apart, which he welcomes. You're lost in the sensation of your impending orgasm that you don't take notice of your husband's ploy.

You jump at the feel of something breaching the boundaries of your asshole. He gave no warning. Now you know what he was hiding.

"What the fuck!"

_"Just relax. It'll be over quickly if you don't tense."_

"That's a hard limit. You know that."

_"Consider this your warning..."_

You grit your teeth and pull the restraints as hard as you can while Michael is pressing a silicone object inside of you. He's unrelenting and your pleas are disregarded. There's madness in his stare as he finishes working the plug in. It hurts and you loathe it.

It's a strange feeling. Not one you prefer.

Michael works his way up your body, breathing heavily against your mouth as he grapples with his own internal anguish.

_"How does it feel?"_

This infuriates you. When you don't - WON'T answer, it's just more fuel to the fire.

Your husband isn't one to be dismissed. Your nightie is pulled farther up in haste, whilst Michael's pants are now a rumpled mess somewhere between the bed and the floor. There's no uncertainty. No doubts. When his dick rims your entrance, your traitorous body is all too willing to submit. An unutterable growl rips from his throat the moment he's fully sheathed within your cunt. You'd mock him if you weren't jolted by the overwhelming fullness you're experiencing. _That's new._ Slow, deliberate thrusts nudge you closer and closer towards the edge. You don't want to give Michael the satisfaction, but the moans start stumbling past your lips and it won't be long before you fall.

_"I knew you'd enjoy it once you loosened up a bit."_

"Fuck you."

_"Already doing so. It's nice being able to actually feel something when I'm inside of you..."_

_He did NOT just say that..._

"What?"

It's barely computing now that he's roughly plowing his cock into you. You deduce he's close to dumping his load soon.

_"Thanks to that toy, your cavernous cunt feels tight for once."_

"Your father never complained. Must be a 'you' problem. There's nothing wrong with a tiny dick Michael, I mean, you use it quite well..."

You knew saying that would be a risky move. However, Michael had been throwing jabs at you all night. Did it merit him slapping you so hard it made your eyes water? Probably not, but Michael wants you broken.

He pulls out of you without warning. Your wrists are unbound moments later.

You don't have time to enjoy your freedom though. Michael's barking out orders, _"clothing off, "_ and _"on your stomach, now, "_ in his stern, big boy voice. You almost tell him to kick rocks, but you know this will only prolong the conflict and there's a child who will be up in a matter of hours, so you obey his request. Even if you do want to kick his balls into his throat.

Michael with his dark magic and his love for fucking with you - you're once again magically bound in place. How much you despise that man right now... You lay there waiting to be mounted, spanked, anything! Instead, something sharp grazes your skin. He traces patterns but never presses down. This goes on for a while. He listens to your heart beat rapidly as he gets close to dangerous spots. It's unsaid, but it's known what the object he's wielding is. He finally brings it close enough for you to observe... Where he starts cutting into the flesh on your arm. You try to contain your distress.

_"Don't worry, you're already disgustingly mutilated. What's a few more scars?"_

You can't determine what hurts worse; The blade in your skin or the relentless vehemence being spat.

You can't see his face but you imagine he's greatly enjoying this. He makes small marks along your back, licking the wounds in the process. His attention shifts - reaching down between your legs, he tells you to relax as he starts to pull the dreaded bulb from your ass. You're relieved. _It's over._ That is until he begins playing with the knife again and it finds it way into the back of your thighs. He runs his hand over the blood and begins to coat his dick with it. You plead with him knowing it'll get you nowhere. You nearly lose your breath at the feeling of Michael infringing upon boundaries he knows you aren't comfortable with. He slowly pushes in and you scream.

_"I'll be gentle, Y/N."_

"Fuck you, y-you weak, pathetic piece of fucking shit."

The tears couldn't be contained anymore.

He laughs.

_"I tend to only love fragile things. You know why?"_ You're not sure if it's a legitimate question or if he's merely soliloquizing. _"Cause I love to watch them break."_

The weight of his body blankets you when he bottoms out. His mouth latches onto your neck, panting and moaning. The binds are broken; a rare moment of tenderness occurs when he interlaces his fingers with yours. Your knuckles ache with how tight you grasp.

He fucks.

And fucks.

You clench down with every thrust. Michael feels the pull; every flutter around his cock sends a shiver that hits the base of his spine. His hips slam rougher than he intended, and it's the only time he prays to a deity he defies. Because his soul only ascends when he touches you. When he fucks you.

However, his mercurial temperament and harsh mouth are the nails that seal his proverbial coffin.

_"To think I almost wasted a perfect load on your useless cunt."_

_Useless..._

"That's never stopped you before..."

_"You're serving your purpose. Being my personal cock warmer."_ His voice cracks. _"Ever since your womb failed to keep our son alive, and you became completely barren, you're nothing more than a variety of fuck holes for me to use at my disposal."_

Suddenly all the pain seems distant.

Nothing equips you for the anguish of losing a child. Fractions of yourself die alongside them. Michael knows it's the lowest possible blow he could administer. It's not your fault. It's no one's fault. But the words already left his mouth before he could stop them and he won't even attempt to disabuse you of the notion that it wasn't, because why would you believe anything he says?

You won't let him have this though. All that you carry is guilt. You wear it like armor. You've picked up your own broken pieces, learned to handle them even when they cut you. He doesn't get to wound you with them. So, you debase yourself. You grind back against Michael and listen to his needy, animated moans spurring in his chest as he loses himself, slowly but surely. If there's one thing you've discovered, is that submission is its own power and with it, Michael will bend the knee every time. _Give the man a warm, wet hole and he's whipped._

Burying your tear-streaked face against the mattress, you rock your hips as hard as you can, meeting Michael's frenzied thrusts. Your name is a litany - and a curse - stumbling from his lips. He comes with a broken moan, desperately clinging himself to your form.

He gives you the usual platitudes before he withdraws. 

He fucks off somewhere and you welcome the solitude.

Lids are heavy and sleep is just about to overtake when you're hoisted off the bed and into the steamed-up bathroom.

Michael carefully cleans you up in the shower. Tending to the open wounds he inflicted. 

_"These won't scar, "_ he whispers examining your back, _"I promise."_

It didn't matter. Not anymore.

"It's fine." You say quiet and emotionless.

You let him finish cleaning you. You listened to pitiful cries followed by _"I'm sorry"_ being uttered one too many times. It makes one question the veracity of their words after a while.

Not being able to take it anymore, you leave him to finish wallowing. You dry off haphazardly and waltz out of the bathroom, trying to avoid cutting your feet on the mess Michael made of your bedroom. You spot one of his button-downs strewn amongst the disorder. _Good enough._ You throw it on and leave.

\---------------------------

After checking on Rain and seeing that she thankfully, wasn't roused by the commotion, you make your way towards the end of the hall to your son's room.

Grabbing a candle from the table as you walk by, you let yourself into the bedroom and lock yourself in.

His room is cold. Nothing warm occupies the space. An empty crib that your child never slept in. A dresser for clothes that your child will never wear.

It's overwhelming being in his room. It knocks the wind out of you.

You sit on the floor to keep yourself from falling.

There's a small, elegant box under the crib. When you pull it out and open it, you burst into tears. The hospital blanket that caught and held your son laid there. Along with the bracelets given when you're admitted in the medical facility.

You lay on the floor, hold his blanket close, and cry.


	2. I Wake Up Screaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some people change. Or not...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as people wish it so, no, I'm not dead. Life happens. I have many works to catch up on reading in this fandom too.
> 
> I wrote/finished this in a single night while listening to "Church" by Chase Atlantic and "The Fall" by Banks on repeat. It's unedited and probably a mess but need to just get it out already cause well, I wrote it just for the ending.
> 
> There's only one more chapter or two at most. It won't be 'Heavy Dirty Soul' length at all. The next chapter is underway and aptly named, "Ya'aburnee" meaning 'you bury me.'

* * *

> _“The cost of tasting the softness from your mouth has never felt so **holy** , never felt like such a sacrifice - My confession is this; I have built a ruined cathedral in you. Forgive me lover for I have sinned.”  
>   
>  **\- the ruins of Jericho - p.d vulpe**_

* * *

_"You've been practicing with your mother haven't you?"_

Michael and his little urchin are seated on their respective sides of the board. Tiny impatient fingertips rhythmically tap against the table, waiting. Michael tries to suppress the curl of his mouth forming a smile.  
  
"Mama says you're a cheater cheater pumpkin eater."  
  
He drew an exaggerated gasp, hand clutching to his chest in mock offense.  
  
 _"Excuse me, young lady, Daddy does NOT cheat."_  
  
"You cheated when we played last time!"  
  
 _"That was to teach you a lesson..."_  
  
She rolls her eyes and groans in annoyance.  
  
Your perspicacious offspring won the genetic lottery thanks to her grandfather blessing your uninhabitable womb and sprucing up her father's splooge pouch. She's gifted with her father's ethereal features and magnetic allure; Thankfully, your wit and common sense. Michael would argue Rain's intelligence is inherited from him. He barely knew his ass from his elbow at her age so you can only laugh and be grateful she's not still munching on boogers and crayons like a certain spouse undoubtedly still did back then.  
  
He still has an affinity for crayons.   
  
Coloring with her is another one of his favorite pastimes. You always want to ask him what the color red tastes like. You don't. But you know he's eaten his fair share in his day.  
  
 _"You keep trying to ambush my pawns."_  
  
"I have to. It's part of the game."  
  
 _"That's not a strategic play."_  
  
"Yes, it is!"  
  
 _"Control the center first. Then develop your pieces. The object is to protect the king."_  
  
"Why can't the king protect themselves?"  
  
 _"That's the perks of being a king, Raindrop... You don't have to."_  
  
"But who protects the queen?"  
  
 _"The queen doesn't need protection. It's the most destructive piece. Stronger than the king."_  
  
"That's what I wanna be!"  
  
 _"Someday, baby... But first, you need to conquer this board."_  
  
She looks at her scattered lines. At her attempts to capture as many of Michael's pawns as possible, even if it wouldn't work in her favor. Her Achilles heel is much like her father's; too much of a one-track mind and neither plan their endgames.  
  
Michael can't quite establish her motive.  
  
 _"What's the goal of eradicating the pawns here?"_  
  
"Each enemy pawn you get rid of is a potential queen eliminated."  
  
 _"Mama taught you that, didn't she?"_  
  
Rain gives her signature angelic smile and an overly enthusiastic nod.  
  
Therein blooms a sense of pride - and dread - at her fiery spunk that resembles yours. _**'You are your mother's daughter.'**_ Her cutesy, endearing smile is indicative of a crucial lesson he won't ever forget - Never, under any circumstances, underestimate your opponent. **_'They'll probably each wear one of my balls on dainty necklaces and dance on my ashes upon my death.'_**  
  
 _"Speaking of your mother, maybe you should go wake her."_  
  
"Ok."  
  
He smiles listening to the skittering of her bare feet as he examines their thought-provoking, albeit, messy game.  
  
Before she's even crossed the threshold entering the hallway, he beckons her back.  
  
" _I think you'll make a fine queen someday."_  
  
"Like mama."  
  
 _"Just like her."_  
  
 _\-------------------------------------_  
  
You've always dreamt of colors. Black. Shades of blue. Lately, all that encompasses you are heady, vibrant hues of red.  
  
Dreams are unfulfilled desires and answers to questions our subconscious is searching for. Our metaphysical eyes are opened to possibilities and wonders. Horrors and fears.  
  
The calmness is a normal occurrence. The warm air dancing across your skin is welcoming. Grass under your always bare feet feels heavenly. Crashing waves in the distant snag your attention.  
  
Following the echoes of the receding waves, you stumble upon a vacant shore. The eerie crimson sky almost seems serene against the frigid water undulating at your feet.  
  
Admiring the ocean scenery, the water's horizon appears black.   
  
The waves against your legs no longer feel cold.  
  
The briny aroma is replaced with a fetid scent of rust.  
  
The liquid billowing against your body isn't water.  
  
A whimsical melody whirs against the crashing of the surges. A familiar lullaby dances in the air...  
  
It becomes clear moments later that you're no longer alone. A child - a boy with familiar intense eyes and wavy hair quietly watches you with a dejected expression on his tiny face. How hadn't you noticed him before? You feel a strong urge to comfort him but abstain from doing so.  
  
"Are you lost?"  
  
Kneeling to his level, he doesn't seem afraid of the blood staining your feet. Or the fact that he's all alone.  
  
"My name's Y/N. What's your name?"  
  
"Michael."  
  
 _Oh._  
  
"That's a nice name."  
  
"It's my daddy's name. He said my mommy was sad so he gave it to me."  
  
"Where are your mommy and daddy?"  
  
"They don't want me. That's why I'm here."  
  
"I'm sure that's not true. They're probably worried sick about you." You gently take his hands and rub circles along the backside of them. Reassuring him. "I know I would be..."  
  
He carefully examines your hands. Then your face. Unexpressive hazel eyes analyze as if they're scouring the profoundness of your soul. Maybe wherever this place was, you weren't just a bereft fleshbag.  
  
"Why didn't you want me, mama?"  
  
He felt cold at that moment. Entirely too cold for someone who's standing in the sun.  
  
"What did you call me?"  
  
"Why didn't you want me?"  
  
You stood quickly, stepping backward slowly while maintaining eye contact.  
  
A warm trickle down your legs stops you. Red flecks are soaking throughout your clothing.  
  
"Why didn't you save me?"  
  
When he opens his mouth, the seemingly innocent-looking child frightens you with a jarring, stentorian voice. The questions became repetitious chants that seem to reverberate.  
  
"We couldn't. We tried..."  
  
"Why didn't you want me, mama?"  
  
"I wanted you more than anything."  
  
"Why didn't you love me?!"  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Shaken awake, you're not even aware of what's happening, only that you're screaming and sobbing. Practically inconsolable. Erratically kicking the blanket off, you're searching the sheets for blood. Relief washes over when none is found. But, the gravelly voice keeps echoing in your head and it won't stop.   
  
_Why didn't you want me?_  
  
"Stop."  
  
Michael sat behind you, hugging you with one arm into place, while he wiped your tear-stained face with the other. He's keeping you at an upright position as you thrash around, as a precaution. _"Shhh. You're ok. Breathe..."_ Offering soothing whispers as incoherent outcries about your deceased child fills the room.  
  
 _"You're ok..."_  
  
Twenty-two minutes.  
  
It took twenty-two minutes for your body to exhaust itself. To recognize that you're awake. Michael hasn't moved aside from cleaning your face off of tears and runny snot.  
  
His fingers idly caress the same scar. _The longest boo-boo_ , as Rain dubbed it years ago. It's become a routine. It feels strange whenever he caresses the defective skin. Nonetheless, it's familiar and soothing. You're adorned with many tales; that so happens to be his favorite, because he secretly inscribed the epilogue himself.  
  
It's a surreal feeling. Loving someone so much it afflicts your bones. Feeling as if they're sewn into your veins. How could one not when they're there to abate the nightmares? To keep you anchored when the control is lost. It's times like this, Michael reminds you he isn't just flesh and bones sutured together with virulence and self-pity.  
  
It's a fleeting moment before the harsh reality sets in.  
  
Feeling lucid enough, you break free of his confines. Mindlessly trudging to the bathroom, you avoid glancing at the mess you're sure you look like in the mirror. A scolding shower is what you need to wash away the vile pungence of ichor and saltwater.  
  
Michael had joined you at some point. Asked if you were okay.  
  
"Who tried waking me?"  
  
 _"She did."_  
  
It makes you feel guilty. Her witnessing the things she does. Things you can't control.  
  
 _She shouldn't have to deal with a fucked up mom._  
  
"I probably scared her."  
  
 _"Our child has made a grown man shit his pants. Do you think a nightmare will do anything?"_  
  
You fondly recall her scaring one of the bowl cut cokeheads, Mutt, so terribly from a story about a little boy who played with matches - he burned down his home, murdering his family and afterward was plagued by a black cat. The cat would get angry and flames would erupt from its eyes. The child would get scared and cry tears of blood. The blood belonging to his murder family. Mutt didn't believe Rain's story so she conjured up a cat and had it jump on his chest while he was asleep. His pants and sheets paid the price.  
  
"Fair enough."  
  
 _"Don't worry so much. You seem to forget how resilient small humans are."_  
  
After cleaning up, Michael departed for business you didn't care about, which meant you and your daughter get alone time.  
  
You enjoy teaching her how to properly beat her cheating father in a game of chess. Michael only aggressively plays when he feels he's going to lose and by then, it's too late to regain any control. His overconfidence is painstakingly evident in every facet of his existence.  
  
She's watched you beat him many times now and he's quite a sore loser. She finds it funny how angry he gets.  
  
She already knows the techniques to deal with her father's ebullient mood that threatens to spill at the slightest instigation.  
  
 _When the seven-year-old is the sensible one of the two..._  
  
"I'm gonna be good as you one day. So I can beat daddy."  
  
"Wanna know a secret? You're pretty close."  
  
"Big Daddy says, daddy isn't that bad. You're just very good."  
  
The moniker makes you chuckle at first. Then you stop and think. It dawns on you she means her grandfather.  
  
"Big Daddy?"  
  
"Daddy's daddy."  
  
"You've talked to Lu- um, Big Daddy before?"  
  
She stares at you with guilt-ridden eyes. Twiddling her fingers along the hem of her sleeves.  
  
"He told me not to tell. Cause daddy would be mad."  
  
"It'll be our secret. I promise."  
  
 _Big Daddy's sure gonna hear an earful though._  
  
"Daddy's back!" She yells and runs out of the room.  
  
 _That was my ear..._  
  
She always knew before you did. And loved to scream it in your face. She just saw him earlier yet the excitement is always there. Forever daddy's girl.  
  
Michael doesn't walk in empty-handed. His long time friend, Madelyn comes waltzing in behind him. Rain adores the bat shit crazy woman and she's always nice to you. You're reminded about some sort of grand affair this evening, a night of debauchery or something, you weren't exactly listening when Michael told you. Madelyn's on babysitting duty tonight and you're just hoping you won't be barging in on a naked Ryan Reynolds on your couch again like last time. Honestly, that wasn't so bad, but you weren't telling your husband that.

Rain likes to watch as you get dressed. While you're putting the finishing touches on your face, she's parading around in your heels, donning a bra. Michael's enjoying how she emulates you.  
  
"I'm gonna have toddies like mama one day."  
  
It takes him a moment to realize what she meant. He doesn't want to correct her and have an awkward conversation he's not prepared to have just yet. The man's probably had more sex than anyone with a pulse, yet is too embarrassed to correct his daughter's terms for body parts.  
  
 _"Possibly."_  
  
The clacking of the shoes is accentuated as she tries not to fall as she hurries over to her father.  
  
He's met with an inquisitive stare as she sets herself on his lap. She silently watches as he pours himself a drink - head titled slightly, her brows are tightly drawn in intense reflection.  
  
"Daddy, what's a cock?"  
  
He practically starts choking on his drink. It's like she purposefully waited until he was about to gulp to inquire about what a cock is.  
  
 _"I-It's... Ch-chi-cken."_ He managed during a coughing fit.  
  
"So you eat it?"  
  
 _"You're not allowed!"_  
  
"But you said it's chicken!"  
  
 _"Y/N!"_  
  
You come to Michael's rescue.  
  
Michael's gulping down a glass while simultaneously wiping down the mess he choked up. _What the fuck is happening here?_ He explains how YOUR child learned new phrases.   
  
"Seriously, that's all?"  
  
You explain to your daughter the proper terms for body parts while helping her out of your underwear. You roast the shit out of Michael for being able to stick his dick in anything with a hole, yet he's not able to answer a question for his seven-year-old child. It surprises you. You wonder if he'd be this embarrassed with a son.  
  
You try not to think about it.  
  
\-------------------------------  
  
After saying goodnight to your child and leaving Madelyn a strict rule that entailed 'no fucking on my couches,' you and your admittedly alluring husband head down to the newly renovated church for mass.  
  
Why a religious edifice exists in the compound still baffled you. God sure as fuck wasn't welcome and you assumed everyone had already sold their tarnished, wicked souls to 'Big Daddy' downstairs so why a house of worship? It's probably to worship the ordained false God that walks this forsaken earth. The one that incinerated the world; started anew. Inside, the black pentagram motif adorned every nook the eye can see. The only original ecclesiastical sculpture they saved was a crucified Jesus Christ - Hung upside down; Michael's blood painted on its face.  
  
 _How try-hard of these people..._  
  
You weren't religious anyhow, but the dramatics of it always makes you simper.  
  
Hushed whispers become complete silence before you're halfway up the nave. Heads bowed as you passed. _The absurdity of it all. Michael is probably sporting a rager right now from all the attention._ They likely know it given their lustful, enthusiastic gazes. _Wonder how many people in this room he's given the business to._ Could explain why so many people are practically creaming themselves on the spot. And why you're suddenly getting the shifty eyes from certain ones.  
  
 _Jesus fucking christ, how many cheeks have you clapped?_  
  
Michael leans in to whisper, _"They're envious of that ring on your finger,"_ and grabs your ass in full view of everyone.  
  
 _I'm sure that's it bud..._  
  
You get front row seating for your first black mass. Not exactly something you'd deem thrilling, but being a natural-born observer, it'll be fascinating to see what one entails. Besides, Michael made you dress up for the endeavor.  
  
A pretty young thing just turned twenty-one and decided it was time to sell themselves off to their respective dark father. The ceremony wasn't anything like you envisioned. She was laid down bare; a human alter, with a chalice and paten in hands while inverted crosses were painted on her face, chest, and pubic mound. Chanting and ripped bibles were par for the course. Michael is mesmerized as she receives the crown of thorns and is whipped repeatedly. Then is threatened with a ritual knife at her throat. _His meat missile's engaged and ready to fire judging by the impressive bulge he's displaying._ He's getting off on this just as much as the nude little flower across on the chancel.   
  
The overzealous celebrant chants a few 'Hail Satans' and 'Nemas' before offering the ritual knife over to the girl. She slashes into her palms and paints a pentagram onto her abdomen and recites something in Latin. She locks eyes with Michael and saunters her way over to him a little too sensually for your tastes. She kneels before him, kisses his perfectly polished shoes, and sits back on her haunches eagerly awaiting his blessing.  
  
Everyone is silently witnessing the intimate moment.  
  
He reaches for something in his jacket before beckoning her closer. She jovially obeyed. Resting her hands on his knees, she leans in, attempting to breathe in Michael's air. _This crazy bitch._ Michael already knew this would end in bloodshed. His arm that was draped across your lap was now being used to discreetly restrain you, his hand digging into your thigh. The other was now around the girl's throat.  
  
He whispers something only she hears.  
  
She backs away apologetically with downcast eyes. Michael reveals the object he pulled from his pocket - his beloved knife.  
  
He runs the blade inside his hand and smears his prized DNA across her face; resembling the inverted cross. The room begins to feel incredibly warm. The candles flicker violently.  
  
 _"May the dark lord welcome you into his unholy kingdom, and may your soul serve him well..."_  
  
She begins to tremble and whimper incoherently before she goes motionless.  
  
 _"Open your eyes, little one..."_  
  
As commanded, eyes open. Black as night.  
  
Everyone marveled at the stunning display. It was nothing new or earth-shattering to you, but you went along, not wanting to be branded as an impious bitch so you played the part of the dotting wife so impressed with her husband's grand accomplishment of making a naked broad's eyes change color. _Big fucking whoop._ It feels bizarre. How they pay homage to a so-called savior who's nothing more than a balatron in designer suits. Once the mass was finally over, everyone shuffled over to the grand ballroom. You were finally able to get your hands on a much-needed drink.  
  
You weren't exactly feeling social, so Michael left you alone so you can gulp down alcohol in peace. You couldn't be bothered attempting to make small talk. A barely dressed woman has her legs perched on top of the table next to you, eyes shut, mouth agape in the throes of orgasm, and about twenty feet away is a full-on orgy. _That reminds me - I need to shave._  
  
Once you felt drunk enough, drowsiness set in. You hadn't seen Michael most of the evening and decided you were done. He can stay, but you're leaving. A slow waltz around the room, you see why your husband had no problems losing track of time. You spot him laughing with a pretty blonde, tucked away in a corner all by themselves. _Interesting._ You decide to introduce yourself since your darling husband has forgotten his manners. And his wife.  
  
"Michael."  
  
He looks at you dumbstruck. Then clears his throat. _Busted bitch._ He steps back, his expression stolid.  
  
"Hi, I'm sorry to interrupt-"  
  
"Oh of course not!" She chimes in cheerfully.  
  
 _He has a thing for these sunshine ones..._  
  
"You must be Mrs. Langdon. I'm Meagan Grey."  
  
She reaches out to shake your hand and Michael immediately, though politely, dismisses the gesture.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Michael. I forgot."  
  
 _Michael? So they're on a first-name basis..._  
  
"Michael's told me so much about you."  
  
"How sweet. All good things I hope."  
  
"You and your daughter are all he talks about."  
  
 _Funny, he's never mentioned you._  
  
You know Michael's listening to your thoughts judging by the twitch of his brow.  
  
 _"Meagan is a_ _Reproductive Endocrinologist... She and her husband are both in the medical field."_ He chimes in rather quickly.  
  
"I wasn't aware there was such a vast team of specialized doctors on hand."  
  
"You should come and see the lab sometime."  
  
"I'll be sure to take you up on that."  
  
You inform them you're retiring for the evening and bid them goodnight. Michael's wary when your thoughts are quieter than the dead.  
  
You waited until you were back in the elevator before kicking off your heels. Michael would have a conniption if he saw you walking around barefoot. But your feet hurt and he's too busy eye-fucking someone at the moment so he can kick rocks for all you care. You opened your front door and are graced by the sight of a naked Ryan on your couch.  
  
"I swear, Y/N, we aren't fucking. He's just naked."  
  
"It's fine, Madelyn. I'm going to bed. Goodnight."  
  
You may have peeked around the corner a little longer than intended. _Get it, Madelyn._  
  
Clothing stripped; your annoyed groan echoes as random items of clothing and jewelry are strewn about, not caring where they land. Sitting your bare ass naked on the bathroom counter, you soak your aching feet in scalding soapy water in the sink. Only a few lit candles reflecting off the surface of the mirror are illuminating the room. It almost seems pleasant. The sound of clinking startles you. Michael's removing his cufflinks and rings. "A warning maybe?" He's removing his clothing and slipping on his silk pajama bottoms. _What's the special occasion?_  
  
 _"How long did you wait before taking your shoes off?"_  
  
"No worries, _my lord_ , I waited until I was already in the elevator."  
  
 _"Hm."_  
  
"So... How often are you down in _Dr. Meagan's_ lab?"  
  
He left you alone all evening. He should have known you were going to interrogate him to some degree.  
  
 _"It's not what you think... I just - think maybe they can help without needing to turn to other means..."_  
  
He doesn't need to say anything else to know what's implied. You immediately want to change the subject being too drunk to deal with it right now. Thankfully, Michael seems to agree.  
  
 _"I discovered something else fascinating this evening."_  
  
"...That the Greeks were hidden inside the big, wooden horse?"  
  
That earned you an eye twitch.  
  
 _"Thanks for the spoiler, but no... The people here are quite taken with you. They're frightened of you. Some more than me."_  
  
Judging by the stares you got earlier and the display during mass, it seems not everyone shares the sentiment.  
  
"Not frightened enough, it seems..."  
  
He slips his hands into the sudsy water and proceeds to wash your feet. Why? Not sure. But it feels nice so you're not stopping him. It's not often he does something like this unprompted so you'll appreciate it as long as he's willing.  
  
He's being meticulous as possible while drying you off. Makes you curious about just how much he drank to be so fixated on towel drying. _At least his hands are always warm and it feels nice..._  
  
"I was hoping you'd use your hair. Maybe some oil... To really get that 'Jesus' feel going on..."  
  
He discards the towel and places a delicate kiss at the tops of your feet.  
  
Then his hands begin to roam.  
  
The distinct taste of alcohol lingers in his mouth.  
  
You hope Rain doesn't wake up to whatever weirdness is happening on your couch. Or the loud noises coming from your bedroom.  
  
\-------------------------------  
  
"Wanna see my painting?"  
  
It's only the umpteenth one you've seen today. But alas, parenting duties...  
  
So far, you've seen a family portrait, which of course, Michael was the most extravagant looking of the three of you. Madelyn. Mutt and Jeff in a compromising position with a very naked woman - _Michael's going to get yelled at for that one._ A few animals she's only seen in books and the final one is of someone you've never seen before. A tall, lissom figure with pale skin and black hair and eyes to match.  
  
You attribute it up to her overactive imagination.  
  
Curiously rummaging through the stack of artwork, numerous papers are scrawled with the identical form.  
  
"These are nice pictures." You hold up the last picture she finished. "Who's this supposed to be?"  
  
"That's Dream. He's my friend."  
  
 _Slightly terrifying._  
  
"That's nice. You know, I used to have an imaginary friend when I was little too."  
  
"Oh, he's real mama. He visits me sometimes and he took me to his castle once! I met a person with an orange head too."  
  
"Oh. Sounds fun."  
  
You deduce it's just vivid dreams. Being beset by them yourself, it's nothing that unusual.  
  
"Was it a big castle?"  
  
"Um, it was sort of big. There's a library with books that haven't been written yet."  
  
"That's just a library then."  
  
"Mama! It's a magic library!"  
  
It's sheer folly to you, but you'd never demolish the illusion for her. Growing up underground and being Michael's child isn't normal. She isn't a normal child. An overactive imagination is an aspect you can handle.  
  
"It sounds like it."  
  
 _To be young again..._  
  
She abandons her creative masterpieces dispersed throughout your bedroom floor. She nearly knocks you over wrapping her arms around you, hugging you tightly.

Her voice was but a whisper. "Don't worry. He'll make the bad dreams go away."  
  
She promptly runs off, leaving you wide-eyed and full of questions. _What the fuck?_

After cleaning the clutter she graciously left, you decide that you have questions that need answering. Calling out and searching, it's clear after a few moments that she's no longer in the confines of your home. _Stay calm._ Glancing over, the door is ajar. _She must have left._  
  
There's not many places for her to go, thankfully. What possessed her to just walked out is the concern.  
  
 _Michael._ Presumably, she'd go wherever Michael is.  
  
Question is, where the fuck was he? You searched for Madelyn to see if she knew where he was but she was nowhere to be found either. _Maybe Rain is with her? Where the fuck is everyone?_ Michael's office was vacant. They weren't in any of the common areas. You go to the last place you could think of. The medical floor.  
  
Stepping out of the elevator, the immediate stench of antiseptic gave you chills. Your hands feel clammy, your stomach is churning and you're salivating. _Calm down, don't fucking puke._ There are various reasons why you avoid this floor, but you puff tough as your feet march on frantically, searching for your child.  
  
You asked the few meddlesome passersby but they haven't noticed the so-called 'dark princess' stroll into their wards either.  
  
 _Maybe she's not here._  
  
Walking back towards the elevators, someone grabbing your hand halts your steps, spurring a loud stream of obscenities to tumble from your lips.  
  
Your heart feels like it's in your throat.   
  
Relief comes when you lay eyes on your child.  
  
"I didn't mean to scare you."  
  
Her grasp is one of reassurance.  
  
"It's fi-"  
  
"Let's go back. Now."  
  
"You shouldn't have run off like that."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
The whirling of the elevator door opening catches her attention and she's hastily yanking you towards it.  
  
"Calm down, I'm coming."  
  
 _"What are you doing here?"_  
  
 _Michael._  
  
Michael looks unsettled seeing you.  
  
"Looking for our daughter. I found her here."  
  
You recount what happened. Rain disappearing. How you ended up in the medical ward.  
  
He tells you to go back and relax. That he'd keep Rain occupied for a few hours.  
  
 _"Come."_ He holds out his hand for her to take, _"I want to show you something."_ She refuses.  
  
"No."  
  
 _"No?"_  
  
"I wanna go back too."  
  
Her terse responses and sudden coldness towards Michael is uncanny.  
  
 _"Ok. You and mama can go. I'll be back soon."_  
  
"We'll wait for you."  
  
She answers before you could. Michael says nothing initially, momentarily lost for words.  
  
 _What the hell is going on?_  
  
He gives a wry smile, "Give me a moment..."  
  
He turns and you notice how each step he takes sounds louder and heavier than the previous.  
  
He was back within moments, but Rain was tight-lipped for the entire duration of his absence.  
  
 _"Shall we?"_  
  
The walk back was quiet. The elevator was sweltering for some ungodly reason. Could be emanating from hellspawn and hellspawn junior occupying the same enclosed space but having done so many times before, you knew that wasn't the case. Someone's feathers were ruffled.  
  
Rain - directing a glowering gaze towards Michael - hasn't uttered a single word upon seeing her father. There's no elation or enthusiasm, which is highly unusual. Something is amiss, and you're trying to ascertain exactly what the problem is. And more importantly, how you're missing it.  
  
Reaching your floor, Michael steps out first. Rain only moves because you're walking hand in hand. Her steps are steady, deliberate. Michael is several paces ahead when she suddenly stops.  
  
She tightly clutches your hand with such force, it feels she may shatter the bones.  
  
"I don't want a new mama."  
  
"What are you talking about, baby?"  
  
The heat seeping throughout the corridor essentially made Hell feel like a sauna.  
  
 _That's probably not a good sign_  
  
Michael hasn't turned his back. Yet. Intently listening, your child implies that her father is going to eliminate you and that he has a new candidate already lined up waiting to usurp your position.  
  
She's not having any of it. Neither are you.  
  
Your heart shatters as your child breaks down sobbing.  
  
"I don't want you to go away!"  
  
"I'm not going anywhere. I promise."  
  
Anguished sobs lead to her hyperventilating and holding onto you, not wanting to let go.  
  
"Listen to me, Raindrop. It's probably just a misunderstanding. Right, daddy?" You purposefully aim the question at Michael, who is keeping his distance but is at least now watching the scene unfold.  
  
 _"I wouldn't take mama away. She's very important to us."_  
  
Prying herself away, she wipes her tear-streaked cheeks, turns to Michael, and confirms your suspicions as she hooks him into a line of incriminating questions he wasn't prepared to answer.  
  
"Then why do scream inside your head about hating mama so much?"  
  
 _"I-I don't mean it like that..."_  
  
"How come you're always away now?"  
  
 _"I have important things to attend to."_  
  
"And why was that lady touching you?"  
  
That caught your attention.  
  
"What lady?"  
  
 _"Rain. Stop."_  
  
"What lady, Michael?" You rasped through gritted teeth.  
  
"The one from the lab." Rain interjects. "She had her mouth on daddy's privacies."  
  
The panic that arises is disquieting as he's confronted with the furious, embittered stares of yourself and his child. Michael's aware there's no means of circumventing the conversation. There's no fucking you into submission anymore. Rain's image of him is now tarnished. He'd been caught red-handed and his track record sure as fuck wasn't doing him any favors.  
  
"Daddy wants to have a baby with her."  
  
 _"Stop!"_  
  
The ear-splitting clamor shakes the very walls surrounding you. He got his command across in the most Michael way conceivable.  
  
"I fucking knew it... I knew that's what this was all about."  
  
 _"It wasn't like that. I swear."_  
  
"And what exactly was it like, Michael? Cause we both know you were doing exactly what she's saying you were doing... There's no fucking denying that."  
  
He begins to stammer. _Typical._ To find the proper words to properly articulate his royal fuck up. To give himself the split-second decision to either lie by omission or perhaps be truthful.  
  
But paltering is Michael's preferred choice.  
  
There's no need to spectate what the falsity is. Instinctively, you know.  
  
Meagan was to be a surrogate. Michael had chosen her personally on the sole basis that he used to fuck her and her husband. He wanted someone he perceived to be trustworthy. Her viable womb was another interest. He assumed if perhaps you were on board with the thought of a married couple agreeing to carry, everything would be copacetic. As usual, he thought wrong. The fact that he was now fucking her wasn't helping his cause.  
  
"I'm done, Michael. I'm fucking done."  
  
 _"You have to trust me... It's not li-"_  
  
"No!" While the lament may not be boisterous as your husband's, emotionally, it was abundantly clear. "No, Michael. You're not doing this shit to me again!"  
  
 _"If she hadn't said anything, everything would be fine!"_  
  
You instinctively shield her; using your body as a deterrent.  
  
He lunges. White-faced demon at full display. What you don't expect is your child exhibiting a similar characteristic of her father's. It was to be expected, but it's different witnessing it. Where there is a pure obsidian abyss in the depths of his eye sockets, hers was comprised of a star-like glow. Their alters share similar ghastly skin and reedy voice.  
  
"You don't touch her!"  
  
She grips your wrist to keep you tethered. Michael was flung backward, full force on his ass. You've gotten small glimpses of her abilities before, but never to this magnitude. The intensity simultaneously makes your head instantly throb and your nose bleed.  
  
It takes Michael a minute to process.  
  
He's impressed. Awestruck at the power coursing through her veins. But, he's pissed, and emotions trump all.  
  
He's back on his feet, walking aggressively towards you. Things are escalating beyond your control. He's cracking his neck, shifting his shoulders and his hands are balled into fists.  
  
 _Oh fuck._  
  
 _"You. Fucking. Little. BITCH!"_  
  
Rain's hold hasn't eased up. You're unabatingly caught in the crossfire of their heated confrontation.  
  
Michael's already charging. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._ Your hand meets his chest in a bizarre attempt to thwart whatever damage he intends to inflict. You give everything you have into pushing him away as Rain starts clawing at him from your backside.  
  
"Michael, stop! She's your daughter!"  
  
Shouting. Pleading. Crying. You feel fogged. The walls feel as though they're closing in. It's sweltering again.  
  
 _How the fuck am I gonna stop this?_  
  
The commotion is halted when unexpected company inserts themselves into the heated argument by grabbing Michael's cravat and subduing him.  
  
 ** _"My, my, quite the rowdy bunch, aren't we? What's the problem?"_**  
  
The voice made your heart drop. It wasn't attached to the body you were accustomed to, but to the woman who's been a fixture in your life.  
  
She looks at you, asks if you're okay, to which Michael silently side-eyes. She turns to Rain and whispers something indistinct to yourself and Michael.  
  
You turn to Michael who appears just as confounded as yourself, breathing heavily with his eyes fixated on Madelyn's face. Before you can manage to find your voice, she begins wiping blood off your face.  
  
 _ **"Rain, can you do me a favor and take your mother inside and help her get cleaned up? Daddy and I need to have a little talk. We'll be inside in a few..."**_  
  
"Promise?"  
  
 _ **"Promise."**_  
  
\---------------------------  
  
Rain quietly slinked into your bed after you both got cleaned up. She took up Michael's side, just as she always does.  
  
"Will daddy hate me now?"  
  
"Daddy could never hate you. He loves you very much."  
  
You don't want to make excuses for Michael's behavior. But you don't want to break your child's heart either.  
  
 _\---------------------------_  
  
Irate. Hurt. Absolutely fucking terrified. There's a slew of things swirling around your head but first and foremost, a discussion with your father-in-law is in order.  
  
Once Rain finally fell asleep, you left her in Madelyn's care to search for your husband who mysteriously vanished whilst having a chat with him. You roam the halls of Hell, searching for signs of any of the two pains in the asses sauntering around in designer suits. Not wanting to venture too far, you head back to the grandiose passageway leading to his chambers. _He's bound to be back at some point._  
  
Maybe he knew you were looking for him. He's exactly where you'd thought he'd be - With a drink in his hand, staring off into the ornate fireplace.  
  
 _Keep your composure._  
  
"We need to talk..."  
  
 ** _"I assumed that's what you're here for. Drink?"_**  
  
Before the offer was on the table, a drink was already poured and making its way down your throat.  
  
 _ **"You know, I never understood you humans and your fascination with keeping cum as pets, but I must admit, my grandchild is absolutely divine."**_  
  
You ignore his comment, opting to polish off your drink instead.  
  
"My daughter stays out of this."  
  
Shaky hands pour another drink.  
  
"Where's Michael?"  
  
 ** _"...I did what was necessary."_**  
  
"What the fuck does that mean?"  
  
He slams his glass down so hard against the mantle it shatters upon impact. You try to suppress the nervous gasp that bypassed your lips.  
  
He clears his throat and apologizes. It's entirely too tense. He takes off his jacket, rolls up his sleeves, and pours himself another drink before retiring to a chair. He offers you a seat across from him.  
  
"Where's my husband?" You asked apprehensively.  
  
 ** _"I put him away for a few days. Maybe the boy will finally learn a lesson or two..."_**  
  
He begins consciously sipping on his scotch as he's watching the gears in your head start turning.  
  
"Put him away?"  
  
 ** _"I locked him in his private hell."_**  
  
"You ca- Get him out!"  
  
He smiles at you and it makes you furious.  
  
 ** _"No."_**  
  
"No?!"  
  
No one goes to hell and comes back in one piece. Maybe Michael would be different and as much as he deserves it at times, you wouldn't wish it on him. This is how you know your emotions cloud your judgment. Had it been someone else - _let them fucking suffer._ Moments like this, you hate yourself.  
  
"You can't do this to him."  
  
 ** _"Oh? He was attempting to harm your child. His flesh and blood. He was going to harm you... What did you expect me to do?"_**  
  
Honestly, you weren't expecting anything. Especially not from him. You were appreciative he interceded and he accepted your pause and sudden collectedness as a 'thank you'  
  
 _ **"Why do you do this?"**_  
  
"Do what?"  
  
 ** _"Why do you do everything in your power to protect him?"_**  
  
"He's my husband."  
  
 ** _"Try again. We both know that's a tired excuse."_**  
  
His candor and temerity are hard-hitting at times.  
  
"Chalk it up to my ever-present foolishness."  
  
 ** _"You still love him, don't you? The man that has treated you like shit under his shoe... Who fucks anything with a hole that bats their eyes in his direction... Who tried to keep a child from you... This is who you try so hard to keep happy?"_**  
  
"It's none of your fucking business. You have no right to judge me."  
  
 ** _"I'm not judging. I'm merely inquiring. And my dear, you make it my business when you converse with me about private matters."_**  
  
It's a valid point. You bite your tongue because it's partially your fault that he's as involved in your marriage as he is.  
  
"You're right. I put you in the middle when I shouldn't. It's inappropriate."  
  
 ** _"You still haven't answered my question though."_**  
  
"Why does it matter?"  
  
 ** _"Because I keep wondering why you put up with so much and get so little in return."_**  
  
"I know he deserves what he's getting. I know that. Rain didn't deserve how he treated her..."  
  
 ** _"And you?"_**  
  
"What about me?"  
  
 ** _"Why are you always quick to make excuses for him? Give me a reason..."_**  
  
Swirling the glass in your hand, you intently watched the liquid swish about while you carefully mulled over his question.  
  
"I love him, despite all the terrible shit he's done. It makes zero sense and it's too fucked up to fully understand but I just do. I-I know, that he doesn't love me the same... His actions prove that much... I guess, I stupidly hope, even with all my faults and inadequacies, that perhaps he'd change and want more for us. That maybe we can learn to be happy with just us three. I know better though. Thankfully, I don't let my emotions govern much of my reasoning. I manage to lock everything away. I have a daughter that needs me. I can't break now..."

  
It's a slightly impaired rambling stream of consciousness.   
  
_Why did I confess all of that?_  
  
Glass clinks; you realize he moved to pour another drink. He downs it quickly and pours another on the spot.  
  
 ** _"It's ironic, isn't it? The startling resemblance between the act of love and ministrations of a torturer... It's a cycle, my love."_** Another drink shot and the tension in his shoulders is becoming visible once more. **_"It's the inexorable truth that you refuse to see. He doesn't deserve you."_**  
  
"Excuse me?" Getting up to stand, the alcohol hit harder than you expected. _Stay focused._  
  
 ** _"Why do you drown yourself keeping him afloat?!"_**  
  
It's the first time he's yelled in your presence and it terrified you. Not because of the anger in his eyes. But the passion behind the question. How close he got with every word fired that you can smell more than just the alcohol on him.  
  
"I don't!"  
  
 _ **"Everything you do is to save his ass. I'd expect these sorts of**_ ** _altruistic acts regarding your child, but not for a selfish piece of shit like Michael."_**  
  
You wanted to argue. Tell him he was completely and utterly wrong. But you couldn't.  
  
"Where is this coming fr-"  
  
Grabbing your chin for purchase, he forces your attention solely to him. To his words.  
  
 _ **"Stop sacrificing yourself for someone willing to leave you gasping for air."**_  
  
His scent engulfs your lungs.  
  
You taste him in your mouth with every exhale.  
  
 _This can't happen._  
  
 ** _"I'll save you if you let me."_**  
  
You struggle to breathe against the magnitude of his admission.  
  
Like ink that has feathered, the distinct lines have been blurred.  
  
There's no excuse when you slam into him. Frenzied. Teeth clashing. Lips colliding, granting his tongue entry.  
  
Your hands may not be as sullied as Michael's, but they're filthy nonetheless. Each shackled by the same sins woven into the same tapestry. What signifies love better than shared depravity and collusive perversion?  
  
Only in this strange life would that be deemed an act of love. What is happening right now is anything but. Or perhaps it is in its own fucked up way. Your heart beats erratically within the confines of its cage as you're lifted and carried off.  
  
 _Breathe. Breathe. Breathe._  
  
Within his chamber - his dark palace - clothing is gradually stripped. Emotions are jumbled as he cleaves to you like a second skin. The opulent bed you're placed upon will be the pyre that burns you - that tears your soul asunder.  
  
It's downright lecherous how the raspily sound of your name rolls around in his mouth better than it ever did in Michael's.  
  
 _It shouldn't sound so right._  
  
He sees past your maladies. Beyond the broken vessel Michael perceives you to be.  
  
But you were fractured long before Michael.  
  
Here is where all pretense of control is relinquished. Sitting astride him - as his lurid gaze draws you in and his mouth leaves a story across your skin, his fingertips leaving bruising crescents in your flesh - you're bound and conquered by the conviction of his kiss.  
  
His fingers skim up along your neck, jaw, and chin.  
  
He won't touch you. Not yet. Even with your body fully exposed, bare cunt rubbing against his very erect dick. The reins are in your hands tonight.  
  
 ** _"Are you positive this is what you want?"_**  
  
You kiss him roughly, capturing his lower lip between your teeth.  
  
An unequivocal yes.  
  
He notes and relishes how the firelight casts shadows reminiscent of a crown above you.  
  
With a shift of your hips and a gasp, it sends a frisson up his spine as he stretches you. Similar quivered tendrils of sparks coil and explode when you move in tandem.  
  
Unholy invocations of his blasphemous name moaning from your mouth suffuse the air.  
  
The consequences of tonight are far from anyone's minds.  
  
Confessions linger behind tightly set teeth as the devil looks on, reveling, whilst you're lost in a euphoric haze. Panting desperately and clutching onto him for leverage, he marvels at you beautifully straddled on his throne. He savors in the triumph that at least for tonight - you're his Queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fun facts : 
> 
> If people are pressed about how this chapter ended. Not even sorry. Everyone in this fic is flawed.
> 
> "There is a striking resemblance between the act of love and the ministrations of a torturer" is a quote by Baudelaire but was used is a book by Angela Carter to describe Bluebeard. I can see Michael as a 'Bluebeard.'
> 
> The tale of the murderous little boy and the cat that cried fire is an actual tale told to me by a friends late grandma. It's an old german tale that was passed down to her and her friends from THEIR grandma's!
> 
> The figure, 'Dream' that Rain kept drawing is actually, Dream/Morpheus and he's of Neil Gaiman's graphic novel, "The Sandman." Satan in this version is *unoffically* based off Gaiman's Lucifer. I didn't want to cross over, so I leave him faceless and don't name him. 
> 
> There's probably more I'm forgetting to credit but for now that's the gist.


End file.
